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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26365480">Silent Courtroom</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/redakara/pseuds/redakara'>redakara</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Amnesia, Komahina Secret Exchange, M/M, post-dr3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:40:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,080</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26365480</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/redakara/pseuds/redakara</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The moment he lost his memories, he knew something was off.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Silent Courtroom</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this was my piece for the Komahina secret exchange for @asktheshadowprince on tumblr!! </p>
<p>please don't mind the summary I just have no idea what to write there and I like keeping it vague lmao</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>The building wasn’t quite moving, rather shifting, half-formed and transparent, completely white like the sky with hot pink outlining where walls should be. The outlining, too, glitched away and reappeared, the verticals and horizontals slowly stretching and receding in a form that loosely resembled a building. A completely uninteresting rectangle with similarly shifting outlines that were some forms of walls, furniture, and pillars.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Geometrical shapes floated innocently throughout it all, as if they were attempting to convince him that the content of this strange place didn’t defy logic’s dictating hands, that it made completely sense for buildings to shift in such a strange manner. Still, logic clung onto him like a leech and boldly insisted that everything here wasn’t right. Maintaining some degree of lucidity, just enough to recognize that this was a strange existence, he watched the nonsensical chaos continue as if it was supposed to happen. He clutched his skateboard.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Even so, the acknowledgement wasn’t enough to pull him out of the irregularity that was this half-dream, half-awake world where he watched the scorchingly bright white cityscape form and deform on repeat, looping until he memorized the patterns and anticipated each movement. How utterly boring.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What he didn’t expect was the complete halt.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The building’s outlines stopped stretching to touch each and make ends meet, the carefree polygons ceased in midair, and the rectangular building attained a new hue- brick red, the glue between the cracked bricks nearly tangible despite his distance from the building. Maybe a kilometer?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A failed attempt to take a step forward proved that his legs didn’t exist in this world, a huge inconvenience along with having no arms or mouth, just sight and hearing. Wind swished undramatically past his ears, masking the ominous echoing footsteps. He only knew someone else was in this world because of the sudden black, almost piercing his eyes.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Though they stood on the distant balcony of the nondescript, dirty brick building, he could feel the scathing glare from them and the sudden jolt ensuing from nearly undetectable, but alarming eye contact.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The person’s long, untangled black hair shifted as they turned slightly to their right in annoyance, leaning their left arm on the banister with a suppressed sigh.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Clearly, you don’t remember me either.” Their voice was distant, emotionless, and cold, and nearly a whisper, yet completely audible. Laced into their voice was a nearly imperceptible hint of concern, almost as if they cared about his fate.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>With a strangled attempt to return the remark with confusion, he realised that he also lacked a mouth.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I suppose you could call us something like...best friends. Or maybe roommates fits the bill better.” They responded, answering the unasked question completely calmly, as if they knew they hit the nail right on the head and didn’t bother lingering on their incredible intuition. Instead, they simply turned back to their original position, relieving themself of a resting position.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>With a loud finger snap, the front of the banister shifted away, and a brick staircase to his position replaced it, and black began infecting the once white areas like an injection, but the ever-present pink remained, holding their positions as outlines. With that, they began their drawn-out decline on the newly formed stairs.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I am sure that he-...they all are worrying about us. Succeeding such an incident, all of them should be afraid. Perhaps we are the spine of it all.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Five steps descended, twenty-six left.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You could call this our vacant room. One of us is out, the other is here. Something is wrong is both of us are here at once. They are awaiting your return, not mine. Go back, Hinata.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Eleven steps descended, twenty left.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“There’s not enough space in this world for us to meet here simultaneously. I will not disappear if you leave.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Twenty-two steps descended, nine left.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I am once again asking for you to leave.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Twenty-eight steps descended, three left.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The person halted. “You know what will happen if you don’t move.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He couldn’t move. His legs were gone.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Thirty-one steps descended.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Very well, then.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>With slow, practiced, and daunting footsteps in his direction, the person suddenly wielded a knife. A voice whispered in his ear. “This world is whatever I wish it to be.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Without an expression shift, despite claiming to be best friends, they emotionlessly stabbed the knife into his side. The obscene sound of metal piercing organs replayed itself in his head, looping like a catchy rhythm. The audio of the knife divorcing from his body was worse than the original noise, somehow.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Forced pain. I’m sorry.” They didn’t sound sorry.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Goodbye.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He awoke surrounded by unfamiliar faces. Two of them, to be specific. A girl, purple choppy hair and a permanent meek expression carved into her muscles. An androgynous man, shoulder-length curly white hair appearing more brown at the ends like color escaped from his hair. The girl was visibly shocked, the man just teared up with a bright smile. She ran off, calling out an apology and a brief explanation.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hajime…” The man let an unfamiliar name slip past his lips. And in an unbelievable flash, the white-haired man was sobbing into his chest, bending in an uncomfortable position from his wooden chair.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tsumiki said you..you might never wake up.” Hiccup, sob. “But...I knew you could get through this. I’m so-” He paused once more to rub his eyes, smiling. “-happy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh..yeah, that’s, um great!” Was it too rude to push him off after expressing his happiness at his well being? Yes, likely. After such a strangled response, surely he would pull himself off of him, right? Of course, he was right. The beautiful- wait, what- male sat upright in his chair in abrupt fear. If nothing else, he was predictable.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, is something wrong, Hajime? I’m sorry I touched you, I-” Somehow, he already knew a self-deprecative rant was incoming. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it’s just-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His sentence cut off when the purple-haired girl walked back in with a file in her hands.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hinata! Y-you’re awake now, so, i-if you don’t mind, I just want to ask you s-some things.” She said, clenching a file in her hand. The paper already crunched slightly in her hand. Gentle, indecisive, scared of being too confrontational or confident. Predictable, once more. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He ignored the oncoming chill sourcing from those thoughts.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Actually, I’d like to ask you something first.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, a-anything.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Um...well...who am I?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>--------------------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Once Komaeda and Tsumiki (as they had introduced themselves) came down from the sudden shock of his question, Tsumiki handed him a file and left to alert the rest of the island residents. Was it a small community? Did he have many friends?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Your name is Hinata Hajime. Your blood type is A, you’re one hundred seventy-nine centimeters tall. You weigh sixty-seven kilos and your chest size is ninety-one centimeters.” Komaeda listed off his physical traits in his soothing voice, but even Hinata could hear the hidden panic in his words.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We seem...close.” Hinata pondered out loud.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You were my first friend, Haj-...Hinata-kun. Of course we’re close.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t help but to notice that Komaeda kept more distance between them compared to when he first woke up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The unspoken question hung in the air, but was left unanswered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re friends with everyone here too. I’m sure they’re dying to see you again.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>An obvious desperate attempt to ditch the conversation, but an attempt that he tried to follow regardless.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>--------------------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Imposter is kind. Hanamura is perverted. Koizumi is harsh. Pekoyama is intimidating. Saionji is rude. Mioda is cheerful. Tsumiki is meek. Nidai is strong. Tanaka is...interesting. Komaeda is wonderful. Sonia is not princessy. Owari is hungry. Kuzuryu is strangely comforting. Souda is friendly. Mitarai is wary. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He repeats it to himself, over and over, until names and faces match.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>--------------------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tsumiki still smelled faintly of vanilla, but the pollen had disappeared and replaced itself with the factory aroma of chemical-loaded cleaning supplies. The smell was intoxicating, following her as she tripped over her own feet with a tray of empty syringes. To imagine her intentions with them was nearly terrifying despite her incessant, profuse apologies. As she rearranged the empty shots in size order, he could only feel like he could do better.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A ridiculous fantasy, but one that he couldn’t help but to entertain. Her hands were shaking as she set it down beside his uncomfortable hospital bed. She exclaims another apology as she excuses herself to go grab more supplies.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She was...adequate. She took care of people without expecting an apology or anything in return. He wondered if he, too, could do that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Even as he sat, helpless in a purely white hospital room, he still had the nerve to think of himself as above her. The quiet voice in his head whispered it like a cacophony, but not in an unfriendly way. A silent reminder. Nothing more.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She returned, nothing but a filled syringe clenched tightly in her left hand, like it would disappear if he loosened her grip even slightly. He let a light sigh tumble from his lips.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>How boring.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>--------------------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A lone girl sat on a bench in front of a fountain. She sat there, without acknowledging the presence of the spectator. She flicked around a joystick and clicked buttons in perfect harmony, never missing a beat as her face remained placid. The left side of the bench appeared painfully empty when she sat closer to the right. If he closed his eyes hard enough, he could almost feel a similar console in his hands as he sat beside her, clicking the buttons with as much precision and expertise as her professional self. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But the memory was no more than an unattainable fantasy. It dissolved like an uncoated pill if he looked away for even a second. He didn’t sugarcoat it for himself, simply let the memory slip through his fingers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When she appeared again, it was more painful. A fatal wound leaked onto the ground, drowning her in her own blood. With such wounds, breathing was laborious and even the slightest hopes of living died along with her body.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She already knew she was dead, yet her spirit refused to give up. A faltered attempt to stand on her destroyed feet only proved further that her life was already over. But she still found it in herself to breathe out meaningless words that she thought carried weight.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her will to keep living meant nothing. She meant nothing. She was boring. She was weak and let herself die. He watched, a voyeur to her pain. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Somehow, he still found himself looting her Galaga hair clip. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Even stranger, he found himself crying, too.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>--------------------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nanami. Nanami Chiaki.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hated forgetting her, but hated more to remember how he did nothing to save her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>--------------------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Most returning memories centered themselves around Chiaki, but this one was different.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was Komaeda this time, but not quite Komaeda. His hair was clearly the same, but his mechanical arm was a real arm. But that wasn’t his, either. Long, merciless red nails and a mismatched skin tone gave the impression that it was a woman’s arm. Longing for a forgotten green and red oven mitt only grew at the disgusting sight.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The aforementioned arm fell quickly to his mouth as if he was laughing at him. No noises found their way out, he just kept it in the same spot.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Isn’t it so disgusting?” Komaeda inquired.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Rather, impressive that you’ve managed to keep her arm from rotting.” An empty compliment, just for the predictable flush to appear on Komaeda’s face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Komaeda swatted her hand up and down as if in refusal. “Don’t waste your praise on me, Kamukura-san. I’m just a lowly servant.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feelings shifted through him like someone studying the contents of a file cabinet. Still, he remembered feeling nothing but the cold night air. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Aren’t you cold, Servant?” Kamukura answered nonchalantly. “A metal collar is bound to breed cold, correct? Winter’s solstice is to occur soon.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Servant’s face went redder, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or the embarrassment. “If I was cold, what would you do about it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Bring you back to the children, naturally. I’m rather busy today if you didn’t know.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t you humor me just for a bit?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>--------------------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Time proved effective in restoring his memories. The puzzle was far from complete, but the edges were set in place and he began to form a vague picture of the past.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nobody told him that they, on this island, had assisted in destroying the world in the name of Enoshima Junko. Nobody told him that they, on this island, had entered a program to help restore their hopeful selves where a series of gruesome murders and executions occurred at the hands of Enoshima Junko’s AI- one that another him released into a world meant for hope.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nobody told him about his relationship with Komaeda.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>--------------------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hinata had asked Komaeda to join him on the second island’s vast library. With the bridge in progress, they ferried themselves over to it in silence. Komaeda was never the type to enjoy meaningless conversations, after all. So they kept to themselves, nervously poking at whatever while trying to get over to the island safely. It’s quiet, but not awkward as they step off the boat in sync.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The walk to the library wasn’t uncomfortable, but awkwardly brushing hands and stuttered apologies in response almost put him under the illusion that it was. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Memories of the past attempted to convince him that it was fine to be close to Komaeda, but it felt wrong when he wasn’t quite that him anymore. So he kept himself in line, stopped himself from impulsively grabbing Komaeda’s hand, and stopped himself from kissing him gently and calling him by his first name- at least until Komaeda was fine with that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So...why did you ask me here, Hinata-kun?” Komaeda asked, very obviously trying to lace innocence into the undertones.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know the truth now.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hinata was never the blunt type, but that definitely took the cake in terms of being direct.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What truth? I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know we were together, Komaeda. I know about us being the Remnants of Despair, and I know about the Neo World Program.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There, it was out. Komaeda looked incredulous for a moment, but blinked. His eyes weren’t quite so wide anymore. He breathed out a sigh in apparent acceptance.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It was stupid to think you’d never know, huh?” Hinata could hear the fake smile hidden in his voice, dying the tone a soft shade of red. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess you know now. Surely you’re disgusted, right? To think that you were close to someone like me….I don’t know if I’d be happy, either.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, that’s wrong! I’m...I want to try this again. I might not be exactly the same, but I want to be by your side. If you’d like that, I mean.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The boy opposite him didn’t say a word, instead took both of his hands in his and smiled. And that was confirmation enough.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>--------------------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As long as it took to remember Nanami, Komaeda, and Enoshima, it took longer to remember the strange file resting in the only computer on the island. With a vague name such as PCS as a folder with only two items, two folders with the names “Observers” and “Users”, it left him clueless as to the true nature of whatever the nature of the files were. Nobody else seemed to know either.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Saionji told him to figure it out for herself and continued walking with Koizumi, who said that though the words seemed familiar, she didn’t know quite what they meant.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Owari shrugged and continued eating meat, never giving a conclusive answer. But the confusion in her eyes was enough to see that she didn’t know at all.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So skimming the files within the folder was sufficient at the moment. Two files rested quietly in the observer folders, code destroyed beyond belief. The one called Teacher.exe simply opened to a screen of editable binary, letters half-complete and words irrecoverable. It was nearly impossible to figure out what it was, other than that its name was Usami.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Student.exe was more confusing. Rather than the expected text editor of messy binary, a screen opened but full of missing pixels. A sound played, unidentifiable and sounded like a noise a computer would make. So he closed the files, hoping that whatever was in there remained intact, which it likely would.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The memory rush was like watching a horror movie with a sudden jumpscare. That was Nanami, it was Nanami fucking Chiaki. Her code was nearly unsalvageable, but in just good enough condition to be understood and rewritten. He guessed that, since the computer sat in the room he was told he went to often, he was trying to repair Student.exe or Teacher.exe.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With the Student.exe file nearly cohesive, already starting to be pieced together once more, it was more likely that Student.exe was almost repaired, that maybe they could have Nanami back again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With that in mind, he let his talents take over. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>--------------------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A knock at the door tore him away from the screen. More accurately, two brief knocks that were firm and almost loud, as if their fingers joints alone kissed the door. Groaning as his nearly numb legs carried him over, he opened the door unenthusiastically, rubbing the grogginess out of his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Komaeda stood there, hair tied back into a small ponytail, wearing no jacket and pajama pants with his everyday shirt as he walked in without an invitation. He simply smiled, sat beside the chair that Hinata was already returning to, cupped the side of Hinata’s face in his hand, and kissed his cheek tenderly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Komaeda, I-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shh...she’d be so happy that you want to bring her back, but I think she’d also tell you that you’re overworking yourself. Come back after you rest.” Komaeda insisted. He wasn’t the insisting type, so Hinata could already taste the desire for him to rest hidden in his words.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If it makes you happy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hinata stood up, legs slightly less tingly and shaky, and walked away from the computer, not before forgetting to save his progress. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Somewhere, a half-finished program contained in a computer smiled for no reason other than her own happiness.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Student.exe just watched, left open and let out a small laugh.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>uhhh hopefully that was good</p></blockquote></div></div>
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